


The Iceman Thaws

by Frances_J_Irnok



Series: Cracks in the Ice [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kissing, One Shot, Oral Sex, Relationship(s), Sexual Content, Smut, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, mythea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frances_J_Irnok/pseuds/Frances_J_Irnok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Iceman and the Virgin.  </p><p>Little did anyone but Anthea know that sometimes, the Iceman would thaw. </p><p>(Explicit, erotic one-off)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Iceman Thaws

Mycroft picked up his mobile and made the call. It only had to ring once before she picked up.  
 _ **“Anthea.”**_  
One word, three syllables, and an ocean of meaning.  
“Twenty, maybe twenty five minutes, okay?” She responded.  
“Yes.” He said, disconnecting.

It was a code of sorts, a signal they’d both come to understand in the years they’d worked together. He never used her name over the phone, not unless he needed her in a capacity beyond her job as his assistant.

Precisely twenty minutes later, Anthea strode through the front door of Mycroft’s vast, elegant home. She followed him into his study without uttering a word, and dropped her coat on the leather sofa, taking note of the crackling fire that burned brightly in the fireplace.

Mycroft swept round the room, ensuring the doors and windows were locked and that the curtains were tightly drawn. Satisfied that they were completely alone, he approached her and tenderly took her face in his hands, gazing at her longingly before tilting her chin upward and capturing her mouth with his. Her body went slack as she leaned into him, letting herself be consumed by the passionate urgency of his kisses. Anthea let a slight moan escape from deep within her as he pulled her close, kissing her endlessly and reaching round to caress her bottom with both hands.

It was rare, so very rare, for Mycroft to allow himself this, to take comfort in the body of another, and he was instantly aroused. His hard cock pressed into her hip while he continued to knead her buttocks and nibble gently at her lips.

“Sofa” he grunted between kisses, and she obediently broke away from their embrace, allowing him to sit before straddling his legs and sinking down onto his lap, facing him. They were both still fully clothed, but she pressed her palms against his shoulders to steady herself, and ground her hips into his as if he was already inside of her. Mycroft took a deep breath to slow himself down and pulled off her gauzy top, revealing her ample breasts on display in a lacy black bra.  
He bent his chin down and laid tiny, hot kisses across her cleavage. She moaned and let her fingers run through his hair, mussing it ever so slightly. Before she knew it his arms were around her and he was unclasping her bra, tossing it aside and firmly grasping handfuls of her breasts. Her hips bucked against him when he used his thumbs to sweep back and forth across her nipples, teasing gently before taking one in his mouth. He grazed the hyper sensitive flesh with his teeth, reveling in the squeals of pleasure Anthea produced.

Mycroft’s most primal urges were begging for him to take her, to hitch up her skirt and pull her panties to one side and then plunge into her relentlessly. It took every ounce of restraint within him to refuse. He’d done that once before, taken her with her panties still on and his pants at his ankles, fucking her up against the wall, hard and fast. It had been head-spinningly incredible, but he wanted to draw it out longer this time. It had been nearly a full year since he’d called Anthea to him and he wanted to make it last as long as possible.

There was one thing he’d yet to do to her, and he had determined that this was the night. He’d fucked her more than a half dozen times, used his hands all over her and even let her please him orally, but he’d never returned the favor. He wanted badly to use his tongue on her until she screamed.

He shifted underneath her, indicating he wanted to change positions. He stood abruptly, pushing down on her shoulders to indicate he wanted her to go to the floor. Anthea sank to her knees, expecting that she’d soon be wrapping her lips around his cock as he stood before her. She let out a sound of surprise when he joined her on the plush rug in front of the fire, positioning himself on top of her and sucking at her neck. He let his lips and tongue trace a wet trail down her neck, lingering at her breasts before continuing down toward her navel. Mycroft knelt before her and deftly removed her skirt and panties all at once, taking a moment to marvel at the gorgeousness her clothing had hidden.

Anthea chewed her lip and willed herself to breathe deeply. Mycroft hadn’t removed a stitch of his clothing yet, and there she was, stark naked before him and being devoured by his eyes. He parted her thighs gently and ran his hands over her vulva, dipping a finger between her folds to feel her wetness. His finger slick, and nearly dripping from being inside of her, he gave her a pointed look, his eyes consumed with lust, and placed his finger in his own mouth, sucking in the taste of her.

Her throat went dry. Was he really going to…? Her unspoken question was answered when he slid downward, nuzzling at her soft pubic mound and thighs with his nose. Mycroft locked his forearms around her hips and traced her folds with the very tip of his tongue, hearing her gasp as he let his tongue slide deeply between her labia. She squealed and shuddered when his tongue teased its way around her clitoris, never quite coming in contact with it. He licked and sucked from top to bottom, tasting every crevice. Anthea let her hand wander downward and caress the back of Mycroft’s head as he ate her out. Looking down, she was struck by the insane incongruity of her naked body in contrast with Mycroft’s - he was still in a waistcoat, crisp white shirt and trousers, his hair parted severely, looking as posh as anyone could while they were licking pussy. He glanced upward, sensing her gaze. Their eyes met for a brief moment before he zeroed in on her clit. She barely managed to contain a scream of pleasure as he worked his tongue across her most sensitive spot, over and over again until her thighs and abdomen tightened, signaling her impending orgasm. He persisted and soon he was rewarded with the sounds of Anthea’s high-pitched moans and the feeling of her shake as he made her come with just his tongue.  
Mycroft laid the lightest of kisses upon her inner thighs as she came down from her orgasmic high. Sensing she’d finally caught her breath, he moved away from her and positioned himself beside her, at eye level yet somehow feeling too bashful to look her directly in the eye.  
She placed a finger under his chin and turned his head so he couldn’t help but look at her. Her eyes, sparkling with pleasure, were impossibly beautiful, he thought to himself. She giggled, glancing down at his still fully clothed body and said,  
“You have a way of being adorable in spite of yourself.” Mycroft was silent, still not knowing what, if anything, he could say.

“Take me to bed, Mycroft,” Anthea commanded gently. He moaned low in his throat, the seduction in her voice reminding him that he was still painfully, insistently, rock hard. Mycroft got to his feet and extended a hand down to Anthea. He pulled her to his feet and, in an unexpected gesture of tenderness, used a lap blanket that had been draped over the couch to cover her and keep her warm as they ascended the stairs to the master bedroom.

Once in Mycroft’s bedroom, Anthea closed the door behind them and leaned Mycroft against it, his back to the solid oak. He swallowed hard as she began slowly unfastening his buttons - first his waistcoat and then the fine white shirt beneath it. She was tender with him, and slow - she knew that he could still be quite self conscious about his body, even though she liked him best when he was naked. It was a way in which no one else ever saw him, and it made her enjoy the times that they were intimate even more.  
Once he was naked to the waist she gave him a tender glance and kissed across his collarbones, resting her hands gently on his sides. The feel of her full breasts and hard nipples brushing against his chest made him quiver slightly with anticipation. Anthea took the opportunity to kiss him then, hard and fully and with plenty of probing, teasing tongue. The contrast of the cold wooden door on his back and her fiery hot skin pressed to his front was a jolt to his nerves and he grew more desperate to have her in his bed.  
Hearing the whimper that escaped Mycroft’s lips, Anthea led him over toward his bed, an ornate four poster masterpiece of woodwork. Her nimble fingers made quick work of his trousers, and the sight of his erect penis straining to be released from his boxer shorts excited her. Feigning to tease, she ran her fingers up and down his back, pointedly ignoring the aching need at his crotch. She nipped at his neck playfully, and he caught on to her game. With a strength few knew he possessed, Mycroft was able to scoop up Anthea roughly and dump her onto her back on his bed. He did away with his boxers and was quick to join her, reluctant to stand before anyone, even his trusted Anthea, completely naked. He laid on his back and pulled her on top of him, massaging her breasts with both hands and enjoying the view. His stiff prick brushed against her backside and she grew unwilling to wait any longer. She spread her legs, straddling him without hesitation, and sank down on his long, hard member.

Mycroft let out an animalistic growl that would have scandalized the House of Lords, and gripped Anthea’s hips firmly as he pumped into her from beneath. She rode him expertly, matching him thrust for thrust. A familiar tension coiled low in her belly and she whimpered helplessly. She looked down into Mycroft’s eyes and the unbridled lust she saw reflected there sent her past the point of no return. She came hard, shrieking his name as her whole body clamped down around him.

Mycroft was barely keeping control of himself. If he thought Anthea writhing on top of him, wringing every ounce of pleasure out of him, was intense, seeing and hearing her shout his name- _his name!_ -as she climaxed went beyond what he could ever have imagined. It was only through pure Holmesian stubbornness and sheer force of will that he was able to stave off his own climax. If he bit his lip any harder to keep himself from coming, it might have bled. He wasn’t entirely sure it hadn’t already. Besides, he had a plan in mind and he was confident she knew what it was.

He let her rest atop him for a moment before gently helping her move and get into position underneath him. It was one of the few things about Mycroft that could even come close to being called a fetish or a kink - he absolutely _had_ to be on top when he came. Anthea smiled up at him affectionately and kissed him tenderly as he positioned himself between her legs. He kissed back warmly, and sank himself deep inside her moist heat once more. His eyes flew shut as he composed himself, catching his breath before starting to fuck her slowly, deliberately. Anthea’s arms snaked round and clutched his shoulders, and her legs enveloped his torso. Being totally, completely enveloped in her was more than he was going to be able to sustain for long, and he gradually increased the pace, pumping into her harder and faster, his every atom focused on the impossibly beautiful woman whose tight, incredible tasting pussy he was fucking. His balls tightened and he called out to a God he didn’t even believe in before letting himself go. He thrust himself into her twice more before his orgasm took him over entirely. He came with a force he barely knew was possible, and was only marginally aware of the sound of his voice grunting, “‘Thea!” as she clutched him tightly, letting him fill her completely with his seed. Mycroft collapsed on top of her, his quivering forearms barely holding him up.

He buried his forehead into her neck and laid there for what felt like a long time. It may have only been thirty seconds or it may have been thirty years, for all he knew. He just wanted to find a way for this to last forever.

He could find Irene Adler on a sand dune in Karachi, for Gods’ sake, he could find a militant terrorist threat thousands of miles away and shut it down with the click of a single button. Entire nations responded to his whims but he couldn’t find a way to allow himself to bask in this warmth.

Inevitably, as it always did, the ice crept back into his veins.  
The cold never left him for long.

He composed himself and laid a dry kiss on her forehead, asking if she was alright. Anthea nodded a yes and released her hold on his shoulder blades. Mycroft buried his nose in her hair, whispering a deeply heartfelt “Thank you” into her ear before getting up and going for a shower.

By the time he was finished, and emerging from the steamy bathroom in his dressing gown, his hair combed and parted to perfection, Anthea was dressed and putting on her shoes. She regarded him with a measured, practical gaze and said dispassionately,  
“You’ve got a meeting with the Home Secretary at 8:30, I’ll have the car round to pick you up at 8.”

Mycroft pursed his lips and stood as tall and as imperiously as if he had been wearing a tuxedo instead of a dressing gown, and said,  
“Yes, quite. Good evening.”

Anthea nodded, just once, and made her way out of the echoingly empty mansion, locking the door behind her before taking a seat in the waiting car.

Mycroft knew, as he looked down onto the street, that she wouldn’t look back. He counted on it.


End file.
